


As Yet Untouched

by lembas7



Series: ECverse [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-31
Updated: 2012-07-31
Packaged: 2017-11-11 03:46:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lembas7/pseuds/lembas7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter has not been a child since the night his parents died. The story of All Hallow's Eve, 1981.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Yet Untouched

**Author's Note:**

> Halloween, 1981 & 1990.

 

* * *

_**October 31, 1981. All Hallow’s Eve.** _

* * *

 

 “Happy Halloween, love.” He trailed fingers through the thick spill of red wine, Lily’s hair more wave than curl. Gently pried a small fist from its persistent grasp on a thick lock.

Two pairs of green eyes met his, both smiling. “Thanks,” his wife sighed, leaning forward to brush a sweet kiss across his lips. “Trick or treat?”

“This one is most definitely a trick.” James grinned, ruffling his son’s black hair. A delighted squeal and reaching hands transferred Harry from one to the other.

“Da!”

The couch sank beneath their combined weight; at fifteen months, Harry was well into the toddling stage and seemed to grow every day. He wrinkled his nose at his son, and was rewarded with a bright giggle. Physically, Harry had many aspects of his face, but he had Lily’s eyes, and more of her playful spirit.

_I can’t wait to see what he’ll grow into._

It would be something amazing. He was sure of it.

Soft footsteps approached. James set Harry on the carpet; immediately, the boy crawled for the toy broomstick lying only just out of the way of unwary feet. “I talked to Peter today,” he said.

Lily settled in next to him, curling against his side. “Oh?”

Fingers lifted, rubbing weary hazel eyes. “Yeah. He seemed . . . I don’t know. Something’s wrong, but he wouldn’t tell me.”

“Maybe Sirius or Remus would know?”

Nestling deeper into welcoming cushions, James let out a sigh. Now in the middle of the rug, Harry chattered to himself and little hands _zoom_ ed through the air. “I hope so. Sirius is coming over in a few hours.”

“With news?”

He couldn’t resist the sideways grin. “Of course. Maybe a book or two. Quite possibly some groceries.”

A matching grin sparkled from her whole face. Soft curves pressed against him; Lily stole his breath, gave it back to him. They separated after a moment, and James managed to regain enough composure to drawl, “Well, if that’s what I get for sending my best friend out on missions of mercy, I’ll be sure to have him fetch and carry more often.”

A laugh bubbled up, spilling out into the room and gladdening his heart. Harry giggled too, and James couldn’t stop the smile from breaking out. _Having no contact with the outside world is hard for her._ The lines of strain had eased, now, but for their twenty-two years, the couple had shadows under their eyes echoing the weight of many more. _For us both,_ he could admit to himself.

To go from spending every waking moment with the best of friends, to seeing them once a month. . . . he hadn’t been able to do it. After graduation, his courtship of Lily had grown from childhood infatuation to something much deeper. Even so, it couldn’t compensate for the loss of men he counted as brothers; a loss the more painful for its gradual dissolution, in the place of the tearing wound that had opened when they discovered that they would have to go into hiding.

_I won’t give_ him _my thoughts; not tonight. He won’t have the satisfaction of intruding on this._

Moments of happiness were rarer, now, as the enforced confinement grated on them. There were times when each of them needed their space, and their son’s presence was a balm to each. And the thought reminded him of a worry as familiar as the lines on his palm.

_I’ve done all I can to keep him safe. Haven’t I?_

* * *

 

Wormtail gulped. “R-Rodolfus.”

Lestrange stalked the apartment, having let himself through the wards. The Death Eater had been in a foul mood ever since his wife, the notoriously sadistic Bellatrix, had been put to trial and sentenced to Azkaban. Only fools willingly crossed his path; the _Daily Prophet_ ’s obituaries kept a list of most of the other unfortunates who did.

Pettigrew couldn’t avoid him.

He heard the door open and close, but couldn’t muster the nerve to check. “What I want to know,” a new figure sneered as it strode into sight, “is why you’re doing this. Those precious friends of yours _trust_ you. I’ll be a Mudblood if I can figure out why.”

For the first time, Pettigrew stiffened. The little man leveled a glare at the blond Death Eater. “My reasons are my own,” he snapped.

“Well, well,” Malfoy chuckled. A wand made of elm lazily traced patterns against the grain of the small coffee table. “It’s true what they say about cornered rats. They will bite.”

_Maybe I have a chance after all._ Wormtail had never been very good at being imposing, but he gave it his best try. “Well? A-Are you going to t-tell him?”

Thin lips drew into a smirk. “No. You are.”

_W-what?_ Thought stuttered to a halt; Pettigrew gaped as elm zeroed in on him.

The world went away.

Pain brought him back, thrashing and screaming.

When he could see again, Pettigrew found a silken black hem trailing close to his face. Raw instinct rolled him to his stomach; he crawled across a bloodstained Persian rug to press shaking lips against the stitches.

Then, he risked a glance upward.

Before he could see more than the ring of Death Eaters in the parlor of what he knew to be the Riddle House, red eyes ensnared his own.

“I believe,” hissed the cool voice, redolent with power, “that you have something to tell me, Wormtail.”

 

* * *

 

She did not like the lines of worry she could see carving deeper into his forehead as hazel eyes lost themselves in thought. Fingertips reached, smoothing the deepest one. “Knut for your thoughts.”

A warm arm settled over her shoulders, and Lily smiled for him. “I’m just worried,” he brushed it off with a charming smile.

A slender finger poked the ghastly sweater James had insisted on, covered in pumpkins and bats and little white ghosts. _In the holiday spirit,_ he’d teased her. She’d threatened to withhold his treat, but he’d just grinned and chased her downstairs.

“It’s not ‘just’ anything, if it’s got you so worked up.” Lily prodded him gently for another moment, then hitched closer. “James, what is it?”

“Something’s bothering Peter,” he sighed.

_I might have known it would be this again._ Anyone less familiar with the Marauders would be puzzled; Lily had the experience to know that these four men were closer than brothers. Not only joy and victory, but sorrow and pain were shared equally amongst them. When one bled, the others wept.  

She might have been jealous, if it hadn’t always been this way. James didn’t come without Sirius and Remus practically attached. Peter was a little more distanced from the others, but it never seemed to be by much. “You said -”

“I know.” James pushed away; the tall form, still shaped by hours of Quidditch practice, paced the carpet. “I just don’t know why he wouldn’t talk to me about it. We tell each other everything -”

“You used to.” Lily saw the flinch at her correction, and hurt with him. She settled a hand on his nape, leaning into muscled solidity. “Peter’s drifted from you three since school,” she pointed out. _Keep it soft. Keep it quiet. It’s the truth, and it’s going to hurt enough as it is._ “Remus and Sirius are here every weekend and more, almost – but Peter’s been through job after job. Things are hard on him right now. And with this Secret-Keeper business on top of that. . .”

“I know,” James sighed, shrugging out of the awful sweater. Dark wool flew, hitting the couch and sliding off the arm. _I’ll have to get that later._ But for now, James was holding her tight, and she never wanted to move.

Lips pressed against her neck.

“Sirius will be here soon.”

“Not for a few hours,” he murmured. A teasing grin, one that made her heart melt, flashed up at her through messy bangs.

“Harry -”

A token protest, and he knew it.

Glass rattled in white frames. The floor shivered under her feet.

They broke apart, confused. On the floor, Harry dropped his toy broomstick. Big green eyes looked up at her. Her wand shuddered in her pocket. _The wards?_ Fear flooded her veins. “James. The wards are coming down.”

“Someone has the ward-key? But only Peter -”

Near the front of the house, something exploded. Harry’s cries filled the room as her husband threw himself at the window. “What is it?!”

“Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off!”

She stumbled, catching up her wailing son. Behind her, the front door burst off its hinges. Laughter, high-pitched and violent, cackled down the hall. A voice shouted something; light burned the shadowy image of her husband, falling to the ground, into her brain. The spell echoed in the corridor.

_James!_

A scream tore itself from her throat. Tears obscured the stairs, but she ran for Harry’s room. The Portkey was there, they could still get away -

Oak thumped into the frame behind her, the lock engaging. Somehow, Harry had calmed despite the noise and chaos. _And his father dying –_

She needed two hands to open the toy chest where the Portkey was hidden. But she’d barely put him down before the door exploded behind her, and her nightmare paced into the room. _James!_ She couldn’t stop the scream.

She lifted her wand, but a careless spell from the creature that used to be a man threw her one way, and the wand another. Lily curled around Harry, who was more confused now than anything else. “Not Harry! Not Harry! Please – I’ll do anything –”

Yew leveled with her face. “Stand aside! Stand aside, girl!”

“No!”

She heard the words, but she didn’t move. _My baby. I love you, Harry –_

* * *

 

“Hey, Pete!”

Sirius shook out sore knuckles in disgust. _Damn, that’s a hard door . . ._  Pounding against metal with the side of his fist, he spared a smile for the old woman, two doors down, whose scowl scorched the hallway.

The white-haired head glared at him for a long moment. There was a bowl of candy outside her door, for the troop of little monsters who had poured out of the elevator when he’d turned up in the lobby. Then she disappeared back into her apartment, with a mutter about disrespectful children and a _thump._

_Oh, this is ridiculous!_ He eyed the wards for a moment, eleven inches of ebony and waiting power in his hand. Scanned the hallway one more time, just in case. And then muttered, just under his breath, _“Praedico Sirius!”_

Three notes chimed softly.

Breath caught behind his teeth, he waited.

_Click._

“You’d better be in the shower, Wormtail,” he muttered, tossing strands of black hair out of his eyes. He hadn’t wanted to use the ward-key; while it was programmed to recognize and admit certain individuals, the damn things were fussy, temperamental, and prone to going off if there was an unauthorized lifesign within the prescribed radius. _And we kept this one small, but I don’t want to get blown up because of a roach._ Animagi all, the Marauders knew better than to assume only humans might try to get at the Potters’ Secret Keeper.

“Peter?”

Sirius pushed his way into the flat, but nothing barred the door. Lights were on. He scanned the rattily-furnished space. Nothing seemed wrong, but – “Wormtail?”

No answer.

Auror’s instinct screamed at him. From room to room he moved, motions quicker with every empty set of walls. “Peter!” Not here. No one was here.

No signs of forced entry. No scorch marks from curses – hell, no tingle in the wards indicating that someone had used _‘Alohamora’_ , the most basic of opening spells, to get in. Nothing.

Peter was gone.

_Why? Where would he go?_ The entire plan hinged on him staying safe, out of sight, and Peter _knew_ that. So why would he –

When he realized what it could be – what it _must_ be, if Peter was gone of his own free will – Sirius raced from the flat. He had less than no time.

And then he was there, Apparating from the elevator onto James’ street, praying that he wouldn’t be able to keep his eyes trained on the house in Godric’s Hollow where his best friend’s family lived. _Merlin, let me be in time. Please, don’t let it be too late –_

The Dark Mark, glaring serpentine and green, hovered over worn shingles. Sirius clutched frantically at hope; let it fight against an Auror’s gut instinct, and lose. Tattered magics brushed his skin as he raced up the walk; but none of the protections had power enough to stop him. _The wards are shredded._   _Let them not have been here. Let this be a prank – anything!_

But even as he thought it, he knew they would never risk their son by leaving the house. Knew they were expecting him, an hour from now, with food and a smile and news of the outside world. Knew they wouldn’t have gone anywhere.

“James? Lily?”

There were only a few lights on in the house. Front and back door, living room. And a window Sirius knew, from multiple visits and Godfatherly duties, to be Harry’s.

The knob turned at his touch.

Dread weighted his heart.

“Lily?”

No sound. Not even a baby crying, at being woken so loudly in the night.

“James? Dammit, Prongs, answer me!”

And then he stumbled, over something lying in his path. _“Lumos.”_

_God, no! No, no, no! NO!_

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. James was – the Auror took control, coolly recognizing the Killing Curse, and moving on. _Nothing to be done now. Weep later. Lily and Harry. Are they still alive?_

The body, on the nursery floor, answered his question. _She was going for the Portkey._ He wasn’t brave enough to shift the spill of red hair, and check for a pulse. The chest wasn’t moving.

And Harry –

_Gone._

Crimson poured across the carpet; his eyes were fixed on strands of auburn hair. The Killing Curse, after all, left no mark of its devastation, no wound to be staunched. It just blasted life away.

_Harry’s not here._

His lungs started working again.

Voldemort wanted to kill the boy. Wanted it enough to torture Frank and Alice Longbottom into insanity, though neither gave up their son. Rumor said Neville was hidden with his grandmother, but Merlin alone knew where. _Wanted it enough to kill –_

But he wouldn’t take him. _He has no need for a baby._ What Voldemort wanted was a corpse, not a living, breathing child. Something inside trembled at the word. He locked it away, hard. No time for that now.

So it must have been someone else.

_Dumbledore._

Somehow, he was the only one who might have known. Might have been here in time, or sent someone who could be.

_Harry’s safe._

But – Lily . . . James . . .

_Peter._

Tension thawed, unfreezing muscles he hadn’t known were clenched. Spurting fury, riding hot and vicious through a willing heart, found a focus. Sirius found himself on the front porch, and saw the Dark Mark obscuring the stars.

_Wormtail is going to die._

* * *

 

_“ . . . attack.”_

Remus set the book aside, and reached for the radio’s volume. The wolf, close to the surface after last week’s full moon, scratched inside. Keen ears caught the next words.

_“ - Dark Mark was seen in the sky over Godric’s Hollow at precisely 12:14 this morning. Aurors at the scene confirm the deaths of Lily and James Potter; however, the whereabouts of their son are unknown.”_      

There was a noise in his ears; he couldn’t hear. The wolf was howling.

_No._

The announcer’s voice droned, but he was fighting the wolf, fighting the urge to throw back his head and scream mourning to the sky.

_“. . . no word of the Potters’ Secret Keeper, Sirius Black -”_

A snarl filled the room.

_Sirius._

_No,_ the wolf in him insisted. _Pack._

_Sirius was Secret Keeper!_ The human wanted to scream. The past tense came so easily. _He was the only one who knew! He would never tell –_

Unless they tortured him.

He was the most stubborn, loyal person Remus knew. But Voldemort could break anyone. And now the panic rose high for this Marauder as well.

_James – Lily – dead?_

It was unreal. It couldn’t be true.

The human couldn’t think; was stymied by the words and trying to absorb them. It was the wolf that guided him from the small couch to the kitchen, the wolf who ripped the back door from its hinges, and brought him outside the wards to where he could Apparate. The wolf reached for the wand, and the human was still dazed and crying when they reappeared not far from Hogwarts.

The school had always been their safe haven.

The wolf knew that the human needed healing. Needed answers.

_Dumbledore._

Somehow, he was the only one who might have known. Might have been there in time, or sent someone who could be.

He was standing outside the revolving gargoyle, wand in one shaking hand, when the wolf retreated. A pair of blue eyes, dulled of their sparkle, found his. He didn’t want to acknowledge what he read there.

“Tell me it’s not true.”

A hand gentled on his arm; the Headmaster was a man who could see past what he was, to the man who lived with the wolf every day of his life. Only three others had ever done that. “I’m sorry, Remus.”

“Oh, _God -_ ”

With surprising strength, Dumbledore caught him as unsteady knees refused their burden. He stumbled to the steps; dropped in despair. “They’re dead.” Hands clenched in brown strands, muffling the words.

The Headmaster’s voice didn’t travel far, dissolving into the night permeating the halls of Hogwarts. But the wolf heard it. “Yes.”

He couldn’t bear any more. He couldn’t. _I have to know._ “Sirius.”

White hair shifted against midnight-blue robes as Dumbledore shook his head. “Missing. His apartment was undisturbed.”

Undisturbed. It could mean anything. But the wolf’s hackles were raised.

One more to ask for - the last Marauder. “Does Pete know?”

“We can’t find him. However, I doubt there is anyone in our world who is not aware of -”

Maybe it was the way Remus tensed, bracing for words harsher than any blow. Maybe it was the wolf, snarling behind his eyes. Whatever the reason, Dumbledore swallowed the words, and sighed. “I don’t advise going to Godric’s Hollow.” He held up a hand to forestall a hasty retort – but Remus was the quiet Marauder, with more patience than all the rest put together. “I know you will want to see them. But now, Aurors are securing the scene, and reporters are everywhere.”

Remus barely heard him. Gasped for air; caught it, held it, made it his. Then let it go, as he would a captured butterfly. The man who raised blank eyes to Dumbledore was filled to the brim with grief. Another drop would be more than he could contain. “And Harry?”

Inscrutable blue eyes in a face wrinkled with cares blazed with power beyond age.

“Please, Headmaster.” He’d only graduated four years ago, after all. “Is he -”

And Dumbledore paused, and looked at him again. The silence was deep enough to drown in. “He’s with his aunt and uncle,” the old man said quietly. “He’s safe.”

 

* * *

**_October 31, 1990.  All Hallow’s Eve._ **

* * *

 

“Mummy, look at what I got!”

“My sweet little boy! Why, you got so much candy!”

_Syrup. She sounds like syrup. Thick, and gooey, and too sweet -_

“So much!” An outraged squall, like the two cats he’d heard fighting behind the school last week. “I barely got five pounds – last year I got seven! It’s not fair; I have an even better costume this year than last year!”

Last year, Dudley had gone as a robot. _He’d have better luck as a beach ball . . ._

“Well then, Duddeykins, I’ll get you more candy when I go out tomorrow, and it’ll be waiting for you when you come home from school, how’s that, dearest?”

“Eh, Dudley, what did you go as this year?” Paper rustled; Uncle Vernon was reading the news. But the distraction worked; Hurricane Dudley was diverted from the impending tantrum he had threatened to throw. _I’d be all tomorrow cleaning the living room._ Still, Harry couldn’t manage to feel grateful toward his uncle.

“I went as a salesman. For drills,” his cousin said proudly. Vernon Dursley’s roaring laugh was interrupted, as it had been all night, by the doorbell.

Peeking out of the vent, Harry followed Aunt Petunia’s steps to the door. “Trick or Treat!” If he angled his head, he could see his aunt doling out chocolate bars to a construction worker, a pumpkin, and a ghost. A little girl with a witch’s pointed black hat, however, got a scolding that sent her sobbing from the door.

Harry snuggled deeper into his blanket. His cupboard was locked, but if he was careful and got to the basket before Dudley could count the leftovers, he might risk taking a piece for himself.

The door closed; locks and lightswitches clicked as Aunt Petunia closed the house against Halloween for another year. Footsteps traveled back down the hall toward the living room. He’d turned the light off in his cupboard; it got unbearably hot, even though it was only one bulb.

_Someday, I’ll be out there too._ He’d have a costume, and be able to dress up, and go with all the other kids through the neighborhood. Someday –

He’d asked, this year. Just to use some of Dudley’s old clothes, and dress up. The shirts were long enough to be robes, and he could pretend to be a wizard, all he needed was a wand –

Harry rubbed his arm. The bruises were just starting to show; five of them, almost evenly spaced. Uncle Vernon had slammed the cupboard closed, and roared in fury at him through the door for almost fifteen minutes.

_Well. It’s a kid’s holiday, anyway._

 

 

**_Fin_ **

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by: “The deepest definition of youth is life as yet untouched by tragedy.” - Alfred North Whitehead (1861 – 1947).


End file.
